


Kyle and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by metrophobic



Series: Troubled By the Way We Came Together [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Dark Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fist Fights, M/M, Major Illness, Mental Breakdown, Non-Linear Series, Parallel Narrative, Sexual Humor, Shower Sex, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrophobic/pseuds/metrophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle has the worst luck in the world, and then this asshole won't stop antagonizing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Today

**Author's Note:**

> Decided I'd try my hand at weaving a few stand-alone fics together, in the manner of Pulp Fiction/Go/etc. Different pairings, different protagonists, different perspectives. So, it's not necessary to read all of them to understand the individual stories, but they do influence and shape one another. At least, that's the effect I'm going for! They will all be in this series (Troubled By the Way We Came Together) and I have one more planned after this, possibly two.
> 
> This particular story is also inspired by a kink meme prompt: "Kyle has the worst day ever and then the best". I feel I should warn for potential hospital/medical triggers, puking (but not that much), a slightly graphic fist fight and a few indirect references to a certain trauma induced by Apple, but I _promise_ that nothing even remotely in that vein is going to happen, it's just part of the plot. It's not referenced in detail or even directly mentioned, really.
> 
> Chapter 2 is an epilogue since I felt putting it all in the one-shot was dragging things out. All of the (ridiculous and stupid) sex is there. It's basically the happy half of the prompt and is pure fluff.

"We need to get you home so you can rest, _bubala_."

" _No_ , Ma--" Kyle frowned out the window. He'd outgrown calling her that years ago, but still slipped into the habit sometimes; it mainly came out when he was feeling stressed or particularly vulnerable. "I feel fine. I'm going to school."

"You need to save your strength! That's precisely what Dr. Doctor just said."

"I don't _care_ what he said, I'm going to school! I'm not Scott fucking Malkinson!"

"Kyle Broflovski, you watch your language! Only one of us is driving this car, and you're not going to get what you want if you speak to me that way!"

"Okay, sorry." Kyle seethed to himself, forcing back his tone. "Mom. Can I _please_ go to school. If I fall any more behind, I'm not going to graduate on time."

"That's better. All right, _bubie_. If you insist." Kyle knew he had her with the looming threat of being held back, if even just for the summer. When they got to the intersection, Sheila turned down a different road, changing their course.

"Now," she said as they finally pulled into the parking lot of _Park County High School_ , "if you get sick again, call me _immediately_ , Kyle."

"I know," Kyle said hurriedly, reaching for his backpack and hopping out the door. "Thanks, mom."

"Give me a kiss!"

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Kyle leaned in on the driver's side and pecked his mother on the cheek. Right as he did that, whatever P.E. class was out on the track came jogging by. A few of them hooted and whistled in his direction. Kyle pretended just for one moment that he could sink right down into the concrete and never return, falling all the way down to Australia, not having to deal with his mother or any of the students here ever again. "There! Okay? Can I go now?"

"Have a nice day, _bubie_!" Sheila rolled the window back up and circled back around the parking lot, driving away as Kyle quickly ascended the stairs to the building. Unfortunately for him, he'd completely forgotten to zip up the main zipper on his backpack, so most of its contents ended up spilling all over the doorway.

" _Aw!_ " he cried out in annoyance. "God damn it!" Muttering to himself, Kyle stooped down to pick up his books and folders and various papers. They'd all been neatly organized in his bookbag, too. Now it was going to be chaos. He didn't even want to think about it.

"O-oh hey, Kyle!" Butters' cheery voice greeted him. "You want some help?"

"No thank you, Butters," Kyle grumbled, pushing everything into his backpack at once. Butters ignored him and grabbed a bunch of the smaller items that had fallen around them, bringing them up in his cupped hands.

"Here ya go, buddy!"

"Yeah, thanks." Kyle collected himself and stood up; the motion made his head swim just a tad. He didn't get a chance to eat breakfast before his doctor's appointment because he'd overslept, and they came here straight from the office; Kyle rooted around for the muffin he'd packed in there, coming up empty. In their rush to get out the door, maybe he forgot it after all. Which meant his mother was going to turn up at the school, probably, to bring it to him. In front of everyone.

"Shit!" Kyle growled to himself, finally giving up.

"Aw, heck." Butters lifted up his foot as Kyle walked away, staring down at his shoe. "Someone left their garbage here and n-now-- now my shoe's all crumbly and sticky ..."

\--

Stan. He needed Stan. Stan would make this shitty morning all better. Kyle practically flew to his locker after checking in at the office, as if he hadn't just seen him yesterday afternoon. Since there was just a few minutes left of second period, Kyle opted to simply wait for him there, hall pass in hand.

The bell rang and all the doors around him opened, students and laughter and general chatter spilling out into the hallway. Stan came walking up with his bookbag slung over a shoulder, looking like a fucking dream. He smiled happily when he saw Kyle, quickening his step. As he caught up with him, Kyle noticed that Stan's smile was a little lopsided, just a subtle thing. Kyle liked to think that he was pretty damn adept at reading him, though, considering they'd been best friends since preschool. His own smile started to fade.

"Kyle!" Stan leaned close to him, and...

Yep.

There it was.

"How'd it all go?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Kyle felt himself tense up, so much that he thought every muscle in him would just snap. He pushed Stan away from him.

"Hey!" Stan looked wounded. "What the Hell is your problem?"

"I can smell it on your breath!" Kyle lowered his voice, hissing that out, feeling his hands ball into fists at his sides. "Are you _trying_ to get expelled?!"

"Oh." Realization dawned on Stan's face. He sniffed once and then reached into his backpack before sticking a piece of gum into his mouth. "There. Is that better?"

" _No_ , it's not better! You're still _drunk_ , asshat!"

"I am not! Would you be quiet?" Stan looked a little fearful then, glancing around.

"Uh-huh." Kyle narrowed his eyes.

"Would it kill you to have some faith in me!? Yeah, so I had a drink or two before school. Who the fuck cares?"

"It's nine in the fucking morning, Stan!" Kyle yelled back, incredulous. "Oh my god!" A few people stopped talking and turned to stare at them. Kyle shot them a glare. "What? Mind your own business."

"Well, now I'm definitely going to get in trouble if you won't keep your mouth shut!" Stan retorted, starting to get angry. Kyle turned away from him. "Where are you going?"

"I can't be around you right now."

"Oh, come _on!_ You're really gonna pull this shit? I know how to handle myself, okay? You're acting like my fucking wife or something. Chill the Hell out, jeez."

"Fuck you." Kyle would have been less hurt by that 'wife' comment if Stan had just reached over and punched him across the face. He slammed his locker shut and stomped down the hallway.

"Kyle, wait. Come on!" Stan was jogging after him, and then he was grabbing him by the shirt, expression suddenly raw and earnest.

"I have to _go_ ," Kyle replied stiffly. "I have class."

"It's just study hall. You can be a few minutes late. Look at me." Kyle grit his teeth, but he turned to look Stan in the face, his own still twisted into a stubborn scowl. Stan leaned closer to him. Kyle could smell the mint on his breath, but it was also mixing with the underlying bitter he knew was there, and it kind of disgusted him. "Look, okay? See? Look at my eyes. They're not even red. I'm fine, I'm not drunk, it's really okay."

"It's not _just_ about being drunk, you fucking moron." Kyle shoved at him. "Get away from me. I can't even look at you right now."

"Fine! Be a stupid prude right now! See if I care!"

"One of these days," Kyle growled back at him, "you're going to realize you have a problem. And I may or may not be there to catch you when you hit rock bottom. So you just think about that!" 'May or may not' only existing in principle. Kyle didn't want to think about a life without Stan, even when he was being a complete dickhead like he was at that moment, which was really what made this whole thing hurt in the first place.

"Oh brother. Don't start _this_ crap." Stan hoisted his backpack on his shoulders and turned away, presumably to his own class, but Kyle didn't know anymore.

"Don't you 'don't start' _me_! I can't count on you for anything! You know what, forget it! It's over, Stan, I'm sick of this bullshit!"

"What!?" Stan halted in his tracks. Kyle felt really good about himself all of a sudden. Unfortunately, it lasted about ten seconds. "You're _dumping_ me?"

"Yeah, maybe I am!" Kyle felt his voice grow thick with tears, but he swallowed them back. "Yeah, I am. So, I hope you feel good about the mess you created. Have a nice fucking life." He stormed down the hallway toward his study period, leaving Stan silent and aghast in the distance behind him, not even going after him.

"They'll be back together by lunchtime."

Kyle pretended not to hear the dry remark that floated past.

\--

"Hey, Kyle."

Kyle looked up from his AP Calculus homework, frowning. It was already starting to give him a headache. Or maybe that was something different entirely, something he was still having trouble accepting.

"What?" he answered with annoyance, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a Ziplock bag of baby carrots. At least those didn't get lost in the mess earlier. Kenny was sitting beside him, chin propped in his hand; Kyle didn't even hear him walk up, though he knew they had the same study period. Kenny usually took that as an opportunity to skip, though. He had always been elusive and odd, but that was also what made him charming. Today he had some kind of strange guyliner deal going on, nails painted a dark shade of purple, but he didn't really dress in any emo or goth style.

Kyle had given up on trying to understand him years ago.

"You okay, buddy? Stan said you randomly broke up with him."

Ugh. He didn't want to think about Stan. Not at all. Kyle crunched one of his carrots angrily.

"Excuse me, young man," the faculty member at the front of the room said. "You're not supposed to eat in here." Everyone in the fucking world turned around and stared at Kyle.

"Yeah, _Kahl_!" Cartman called from a couple rows away, pronouncing his name in that obnoxious way that made Kyle's skin crawl. "You gotta wait 'til lunch, like the rest of us!"

Kyle shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "I have permission," he said slowly, enunciating each word.

"Oh-- _oh!_ Goodness me, I completely forgot! I'm sorry, carry on, uh..." The teacher looked over her roster. "Kyle Broflovski." The way she pronounced it was a little like "bro-love-ski".

"Yeah," Kyle muttered, opening his eyes to find the entire room still gawking at him. "Thanks a lot."

"Hey, assholes," Kenny said firmly. "Eyes forward, okay?" Much to Kyle's pleasant surprise, they listened. Most of them. Kenny pointed straight at some random guy who was still gaping at them. "You too, fuckass." That was when a good portion of the class turned to stare at _that_ kid, and he quickly averted his eyes.

"Excuse me, young man! We do not use that kind of language here."

"Yeah, okay." Kenny didn't really seem to care, turning his attention back to Kyle, who felt marginally better. Kenny was a good friend. Kyle was glad to have him on his side. "So what's going on?" Kenny lowered his voice.

"I just can't deal with it anymore," Kyle replied. It was a partial lie, a lie by omission, really. "Stan's drinking. I really needed him today and it's like he just didn't care at all." He felt like someone's whiny girlfriend saying that, which frustrated Kyle all the more. Usually he had his shit together. But that was the thing-- Stan was there for him a lot. How could he not be there for him today, of all days? Kyle wondered if he was really just developing an entitlement complex, expecting too much out of Stan. It hurt to think about.

Kenny patted his shoulder.

"I know, I get it. I mean, not your exact situation, but it's hard watching that kind of shit. You want me to talk to him?"

"No..." Kyle slumped against the table, burying his face in his arms. "It wouldn't be the same. He has to figure it out on his own, we can't just tell him. I don't want to be the bad guy, Kenny, but this is so hard, I can't take it anymore." He was kind of just spilling it out now, which was embarrassing.

"Sometimes you have to, man. It doesn't have to be a fucking intervention or anything, but you're not just his boyfriend--"

"Ex-boyfriend."

"Yeah, okay. But you're his best friend, too. If he's gonna listen to anyone, it'll be you."

"I don't have the energy for it, Kenny. I don't." Kyle sat up again and ate another carrot, sighing. "I have this shit to deal with." He gestured sort of vaguely to his own body. "I can't babysit my boyfriend, too."

"Ex-boyfriend." Kenny's mouth quirked.

"Yeah..." Kyle lowered his eyes.

"Shit, yeah," Kenny said suddenly. "Your appointment this morning. How'd that go?"

"Oh, god." Kyle felt his stomach seize up, all but obliterating his appetite. "It... look, I just don't want to talk about it, okay? I have homework to do."

"All right, all right." Kenny held up his hands. "You know where to find me, okay kid?"

"Sorry," Kyle added. "I know you're just trying to help. Want one?" He nudged the bag of carrots in Kenny's direction.

"Hey, don't eat those _Kin-ney_ , you'll catch Kyle's Diabetes-AIDS! Haha!"

The bag crinkled in Kyle's fist.

"Cartman, shut the Hell up. No one cares." Kenny had his back again. The whole class was starting to turn their heads in Kyle's direction again, but one steely-eyed glare from Kenny put them back in their place. Good ol' Ken.

"Boys, I need you to be quiet."

"I'll be right back, Kenny." Kyle stood up. "I need to go kill him now."

"No, no. C'mon, Kyle. Sit back down." Kenny's voice was admonishing him. "Just fucking ignore him."

"Don't worry _Kahl_ , I've already been inoculated! 'member that one time, when I gave you AIDS? I'm immune to your Diabeetus-AIDS now, it's kewl!"

"There is no such thing as 'Diabetes AIDS', you fat fucking _retard_!" Kyle shouted. He knew he should have just let it go instead of acting like a child, but this was the last thing he needed right now: Cartman digging in where he knew to dig in best. He actually would have preferred his anti-Semitic bullshit today, or even the digs at his mother.

"Young man," the teacher was approaching his desk, speaking quietly. "I need to ask you to leave the room. You are being far too disruptive today, and it's distracting the other students."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." Kyle's voice was soft again, because he didn't _actually_ want to be disruptive. He felt a surge of anger, mostly at himself, for letting Cartman get to him so easily.

"I have to say, Mr. Bro-love-ski, I'm disappointed in you. You're a senior; you should know better than to talk like that. We have a zero tolerance policy against slurs. I'm writing you a pass to go to the office."

"Yeah, okay, fine." Kyle took it from her and proceeded to quietly collect his things, defeated. He knew he was getting stares again, even if Kenny was trying to intimidate them into minding their own business. Kenny turned and gave him a small, sympathetic smile.

Once Kyle was out in the hallway, he felt his phone buzz; it was a text from Kenny.

_dont worry 'bro-luv', i'll kick his ass later._

Then there was another. It was not from Kenny.

_na na na na na na ha ha ha ha ha ha_

\--

Thankfully, because Kyle very rarely actually got in trouble, he made it out with only two days of after-school detention. It still irked him that Cartman fucked him over and got off scot-free _yet again_ , but Kyle was glad that was all it was. They weren't even going to inform his parents, so long as he didn't get sent to the office again that day.

Of course, that wasn't the last of his shitty day, as Kyle discovered when it was time for lunch.

Stan wasn't waiting outside Kyle's fifth period classroom.

It always happened like that when they were dating: he'd meet up with him and then they'd walk to lunch together. Or sometimes they'd sneak off to one of their cars and talk... or make out. _When we were dating_ , Kyle silently repeated to himself, the fact that it was past tense completely crushing the air from his lungs. Stan must have agreed even more than he did, that it was for the best. It was time to start getting used to it. _We're broken up_ , Kyle thought to himself as he walked toward the bathroom, testing out that statement. _This time we're actually broken up for real._

Just last night, Stan said that he loved him, that he wanted to be with Kyle for the rest of his life. Statements like these often peppered their conversations. _love u always dude, goodnite <3_ \-- See, there it was, right in Kyle's phone. He'd pulled it out to check if Stan sent him any messages, tried to get in touch with him some other way. But that was the most recent one, from last night. He wouldn't even fight for him now. It was that easy for Stan to just let go, instead of trying to improve, to fix himself. To keep the one person he said he wanted to be with forever.

Kyle scowled, kicking the door to the men's room open. _Fuck you, Stan! I guess I really didn't mean shit to you after all!_ He stomped over to one of the urinals, only he didn't make it that far, because suddenly his stomach lurched and he had to launch himself toward the sink. As he grasped its sides, a suspicious, chalky-white substance spilled from his mouth, mixed with bits of chewed up carrot.

Fucking.

Gross.

A creak at the door; Kyle knew as soon as the occupant took his first step inside who it was. No one else had such a notorious gait. Kyle didn't even look up or acknowledge him. Mostly because he felt bile in his throat and then more of that... _stuff_ was coming up.

"That's fucking disgusting, _Kahl_! Go spit out your new little boyfriend's cum somewhere else!"

Oh, Christ. "Shut up," Kyle answered weakly, wiping his mouth and leaning on the sink a little, still staring down into it.

"So do you meet Kenny in the woods like Clyde, or do you just go right on over to the ghetto right after _skewl_?"

"I said, shut up!" Kyle lifted his head that time. "It's fucking milk! This is all your fault, fatass!"

"Welp, guess you're gonna die. Not my problem."

Cartman walked past him and happily claimed a stall for himself. No, oh fuck no. He already felt like he was going to puke out everything inside him, guts and all. Kyle did not need any extra help moving that along. He fled from the bathroom, pausing to pop a mint in his mouth before quickly walking up the steps to the next floor so he could finally take that goddamn leak.

Sanctuary. Kyle marched right in. The nausea, at least, seemed to have abated. For the moment. He unzipped and got to business, barely noticing the other guy standing there pissing in his peripherals, until said guy turned his head to look at him and... well, shit. It was Stan.

"Kyle?"

Kyle cast a sidelong glance in Stan's direction. He felt his chest constrict. This was it. Their first encounter as singles, back to being best friends. But could they? It couldn't just go back to the way things were. He wanted to leave, couldn't handle seeing Stan and knowing that he was no longer his.

Stan finished and zipped up, going over to wash his hands (the way Kyle had conditioned him to) immediately, though he stared at Kyle the entire time.

"Uh... hey, Stan."

"Kyle, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about this morning." His eyes were a little red, his voice cracking. And he was apologizing like this while Kyle was pissing into a urinal. Well then.

"Can you wait a minute?" Kyle huffed at him. "I'm trying to go. Stop looking at me. Turn around."

"... I've seen your dick before, dude. Lots of times."

"Yeah, but I don't want you to see it with pee coming out! Just turn around. Jesus."

"Okay, okay."

Stan did what he was told, and then Kyle finished, walking over to wash his hands. Stan was still standing there staring at the wall, but he turned around when the faucet started running.

"So..." Stan was staring at Kyle with a kicked-dog expression. "I'm just so sorry," he tried again. "I can't live without you. Please don't break up with me, oh god, I feel like my world is ending!" He was clearly trying to hold it together, like a man or... whatever, but Stan's voice broke again, and his eyes were getting all glossy.

Welp. So much for that! "Stan!" Kyle immediately cracked, grabbed Stan and pulled him into a hug. "I was just pissed off, I don't want to break up either." It was silly. So silly of him to think they could just end it all over one petty argument. This was where they belonged. In each other's arms. In the men's room.

"Oh, thank god. You're the love of my life. I don't want to lose you."

"Bravo," came that same fucking voice from this morning, in one of the stalls. "I knew you'd be back together before lunchtime."

"Shut the hell up, Craig!" Kyle snapped.

"Just ignore him, dude."

Kyle pulled back and kissed Stan lightly, not wanting the smack of their lips to be audible. Unfortunately for him, Stan was a little too eager and pushed him up against the wall, slipping him the tongue. Kyle made a muffled noise of surprise, which probably sounded like a moan, much to his horror.

There was a flush and the click of a latch, and Craig stepped out from the toilet. Shooting him a hard glare, Kyle yanked himself away from Stan's pawing. Craig had probably been sitting there the whole time on purpose, just _waiting_ for the perfect opportunity to watch them start to neck or something. He was a smug fucking prick like that.

Craig said nothing, only quirked an eyebrow in their direction before turning his attention to the sink.

"Mind your own business!" Kyle snarled at him. Stan reached down and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. Kyle felt a little guilty, but he pulled his hand away, embarrassed and not wanting Craig to see it.

"This is a public establishment," Craig replied. "and I have as much of a right to be here as you do."

Kyle said nothing else, just stood there with his arms crossed. Craig finished washing up and walked past them without another word or even a glance in their direction. Kyle leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes.

"Why do you have to do that."

"Is it really that big of a deal?" Stan sounded a little wounded. "Everyone already knows..."

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't _want_ everyone to know. Maybe I don't want everyone to _keep_ knowing."

"Dude, I'm not going to apologize for loving you and not caring if the world sees it."

"You don't have to shove your tongue down my throat in public!" Kyle raised his voice just a tad, cringing when it echoed just that much more in the empty bathroom.

"This wasn't public. Not really. I didn't know someone would walk out right then and there."

Stan could be so fucking thick-headed sometimes, Jesus Christ. "I just want you to be a little more discreet." He said slowly, like a mother explaining something to a child and trying not to lose her patience. "Okay?"

"All right, all right." Stan didn't sound like he really got it at all. "Can we go eat?"

"Fine," Kyle scoffed. "But we need to talk."

"I thought we just did."

"No, Stan, it's about something else." Kyle checked his cellphone's clock and frowned. There was only so much time left in the lunch period. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation, and while he was burning for Stan's support, he did not want to rush it. He shook his head.

"Nevermind. We don't have enough time."

"After school? Can it wait that long?"

Kyle didn't want it to, but he had no other choice. He sort of nodded and then, because the room was blissfully empty, he leaned over and pecked his stupid fucking boyfriend on the cheek.

"'Kay. Let's go."

\--

"It's like he's everywhere today," Kyle lamented as they walked to the courtyard, a place where seniors tended to converge when they didn't drive elsewhere to get lunch. "I can't stand it."

"Who? Cartman?"

Kyle actually laughed at that, but it was humorless. " _No,_ Stan. Craig!"

"Well, it _was_ the bathroom, dude..."

"I know," Kyle huffed. "Just nevermind. Let's go sit down."

Kyle's packed, healthy and kosher lunch promised to be at least somewhat appetizing, at the very least. With so much on his mind weighing him down, however, he was finding it difficult to maintain any kind of appetite. He couldn't stop thinking about this morning, what the doctor and his mother had told him, what he had to change. The fact that he, himself, had already changed-- and not for the better.

"C'mon, Kyle," Stan teased him. "Don't make me feed you."

"Shut up." But it held nothing but affection. Kyle took a bite of his sandwich. "See?" he said after swallowing it down. "I'm good."

He really wasn't, but he was good at faking it until he made it, as the saying went. Unfortunately, Stan seemed to sense this, because he kept looking over at Kyle like he was his fucking dog who had gotten sick or something. It only reminded him of how he didn't get a chance to tell Stan what happened, which was now going to trouble him all day, probably.

Oh, Hell with it.

Kyle carefully slipped his hand under the table, finding Stan's hand and sliding their fingers together. This seemed to make him supremely happy, because he grinned over at him. Kyle forced a smile back. The warmth was reassurance enough to hold him over, he thought; this stolen bit of closeness.

At least until Craig Tucker decided to throw a fucking french fry at him.

"Some of us are trying to enjoy our fine meal," he remarked. "Get a room or go sit somewhere else."

 _That doesn't even make any sense!_ Kyle flicked the offending sliver of grease and starch off his hat, scowling.

"They're just sitting there," he heard Token say. _Yep. Even your friends think you're an asshole. Great job._

Craig wasn't even answering back, just sitting there eating away, occasionally slurping from his drink and not making eye contact with a single person. What wonders. Kyle stood up from his seat, unwilling to indulge him but at the same time getting _really_ fucking tired of this crap. _Why_ was he so invested in his relationship!? What was he hoping to accomplish?

"Is there a _problem_?" he snapped. When Craig didn't respond Kyle felt heat creeping along his neck, up to his ears. The one time. The one _fucking_ time he actually got the balls to _try_ giving Stan a morsel of affection that wasn't wrapped up tight in his own issues and hidden from prying eyes. Judgment. Always the fucking judgment. It wasn't fair at all. And now that Stan had been involved, too, he no longer felt the need to discreetly fit this particular spectrum of anger into little boxes.

"No, _really_." Kyle raised his voice just a little. But they were all staring at him, they'd already heard him. "Are you threatened by the fact that I have _no shame_ about holding my boyfriend's hand in public? Is that it?"

"FAG FIGHT!" Cartman shouted gleefully from some other corner of the area. Tweek--who had been surprisingly quiet for the past couple of weeks--shrieked loudly like he was still in elementary school, startled from whatever world he'd sunk into and pulled back into reality. He seemed pretty embarrassed by this, covering his mouth with his hand in an oddly endearing fashion. Poor guy. He was actually pretty cool, if one could get in past all the crazy. Kyle had tried, and left it alone, strictly delegating Tweek in his head to "weird guy who sits with us at lunch and hangs out with the group sometimes".

Someone was tugging at Kyle's hand: Stan, who didn't seem impressed by the outburst at all, just bored with the whole thing. _Well. You're welcome, then, Stanley._

"Dude, just let it go."

Clyde was laughing at him. He wanted to fucking disappear. "Kick the shit out of him, Kyle!" he whooped, obviously making fun of him. Before Kyle could say or do anything else, it was Craig who stood up this time, and for a moment he wondered if this really was going to be an all-out brawl. He felt his hands curl into fists, hoping it wouldn't have to go that far but certainly being ready if it did.

"You are blowing this out of proportion," Craig said. "I'm not interested in indulging you any further. I am moving elsewhere to finish my lunch in peace." Kyle watched him walk away.

That unbelievable fucking bastard. His lunch was still sitting right there.

Feeling ridiculously spiteful, Kyle reached for Craig's plate and picked up a half-stale, half-soggy piece of... what he guessed was supposed to be a chicken cutlet, but looked like cardboard soaked in gravy.

And chucked it at his back.

"Kyle," Stan groaned, pressing his face into his hand.

Tweek had been watching this last bit of the exchange with wide eyes. As soon as Kyle sat back down again, Tweek reached for the neglected tray, dumped all of its contents onto the ground, and carefully, meticulously lined it up on the table next to his own.

_Okay then._

Kyle wasn't sure if that was supposed to be funny or not, so he didn't laugh, except on the inside.

"But you didn't take your lunch!" Tweek shouted after Craig, just in time for Craig to open the door and disappear inside the building. "You can't waste food!"

Wow. Was that spite Kyle detected in Tweek, too? In fucking _Tweek_ of all people? He'd always seen him in tow with Craig and his buddies, who Kyle felt resentful toward by association but didn't actually _hate_ them because they were, for the most part, nice people. They were pretty good friends. Weren't they?

No, he had to be mistaken. Tweek was just being Tweek.

What a weirdo.

"What the fuck is his deal?" Kyle said to no one in particular.

"He's just trying to get to you," Stan offered. "Don't let him. If you can deal with Cartman, you can easily deal with Craig. C'mon, dude. Sit down and finish your sandwich."

"You don't get it," Kyle muttered, sitting down again. "You just don't get it, Stan."

"What don't I get?" Stan frowned at him, and that's when Kyle realized he probably meant to keep that inside.

Tweek made some kind of squeaky noise. "He hates it when he can't pack people away, that's why!"

"Huh?" Kyle regarded him with sudden interest. Tweek didn't offer insight so openly like that before. "I don't get it."

"In his brain, neat and tidy and away from the places he might actually have to _use_ \--agh! I have to go!" Picking up first his backpack and then both trays in his hands, Tweek didn't rush for the door the way Kyle thought he would; he simply walked away.

"What a weirdo," Stan said, and Kyle laughed, because that was verbatim what he'd thought a moment ago, and he liked it when it seemed like Stan could read his mind, even the things that were the most useless.

\--

Kyle stopped off at his locker between lunch and his next class, allowing Stan to pat his shoulder as a goodbye before they split. Just two classes. Two more classes, and he could go home, relax with Stan and finally, hopefully, lean on him.

Another wave of nausea hit him just then, and he had to brace a hand against his locker for support. Maybe he _should_ call his mother ... Kyle pulled out his phone and stared at it. Some dialogue box was blocking the way.

_God, not another fucking iOS update. I don't have time for this shit._

He pressed the button to confirm. Another document popped up on the screen; more of that fine print bullshit. Feeling like complete fucking garbage and wishing, _praying_ that he wouldn't just hurl into his locker, he let out an irritated sigh and clicked through the dialogues when they appeared. The sooner he got this update bullshit over with, the better. Why did they tie so much into such specific versions of operating systems, anyway? It was ridiculous.

...

Oh, fuck.

Dread, like being slowly pushed into a tub of ice water, started at his toes and slid all the way up to the back of Kyle's neck. It had to be now. After seven fucking years of learning from his mistakes. It had to be now. The display with its slowly-moving bar went blurry, out of focus.

 _Fuck_ , he whispered to himself, but it was dead air, settling against his scarred lips.

_Stan. Mom. Oh god. Help me._

"And now, for the encore."

Oh for Christ's sakes. Really. _Really._

With shaking hands, Kyle shoved his phone back in his pocket. His throat felt like it was on fire where every other part of him was chilled to the very bone. He was sure he probably had cold sweat on the back of his neck.

He'd had _enough_ of this shit.

"No. No fucking way."

Not again. Not fucking _again_.

Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

His feet were carrying him there before he even realized where he was going, something monstrous and fearsome rising in him, blacking out the terror.

"Not today, Craig."

The look on Craig's face was this strange juxtaposition of confusion and condescension. He didn't know whether to look down on Kyle or be afraid of him. Kyle's blood boiled under his skin, and then he was shoving Craig back into some anonymous locker. Shoving him, and shouting right in his goddamn smug fucking face. "Not _today_ , you _fucking asshole!_ I am _sick_ of your hypocritical _bullshit_!"

His feet scrabbled against the tile. Craig was shoving back.

And that wasn't all he did, because something slammed against Kyle's stomach, a thick, solid stone sinking right through his insides. Craig's shirt slipped from his fingers and Kyle staggered back a step, holding a hand to his pounding gut, agony spreading through him, all the way up and all the way down.

There was a pin-drop's worth of silence. Then the chorus started up: " _Oooh ..._ " and they had an audience.

It was only background noise, static in the distance. Kyle lunged forward, fist flying without even a thought, only a fiery rage that seemed to burn through every cell of his body. He felt the satisfying crack of cartilage--maybe even _bone_ , God he fucking hoped--and Craig's nasal " _ow! Fuck!_ ". They were clawing at each other like beasts, only Kyle had no territory to stake his claim on, just himself. The slam of his spine against the row of metal lockers hardly registered to him; they were going for each other's faces, fists flying, grappling at shirts, each trying to pin the other and get the jump on him. Craig's face from beneath his nose to his chin was a smear of blood. Kyle's jaw throbbed, his stomach lurched, he couldn't stop now.

The hall was a whirlwind of excited shouts, Kyle even heard Eric fucking Cartman's boisterous scream above the rest-- "C'mon, Craig! Don't take that shit from a fucking _Jew_!" Dimly he realized someone was shouting his name at him, right in his fucking face, he couldn't move, and he thrashed but the bonds wouldn't break.

"Kyle. _Kyle!_ " Stan. Of course, it was Stan. Kyle struggled to break free of him, crying out hoarsely and stamping his feet. He had to get to him, to Craig, to show him that he wasn't taking any more of his goddamned closeted self-hating _shit_ after all these years-- it was a strange, numbing rage that was wholly different from his lifelong hatred toward Cartman, and no one fucking understood it. No one.

"Let me _go_!" he hollered, trying unsuccessfully to kick out at Stan and break his wrists free, but Stan was strong, he worked out and had that hard protective body and Kyle was no match. He hauled himself forward, screaming things at Craig that he didn't even know anymore, _I'll kill you_ , _fuck you_ , _**I'll kill you**_ and at one point, he even spat on him, running out of options because Stan was stronger, and there weren't blows coming at him anymore, just shouting, Craig, fucking Cartman, Clyde, Kenny, Stan-- so much of it that it all blended together, an angry cacophony to play by, they were hardly people to begin with anyway. But then the bloodied face before his eyes started to blur and distort, like some kind of monster.

There were shadows ahead of him, blurred colours, a flash of blue that he knew was Craig and a flicker of orange, of red, of varying flesh-tones but none of them recognizable. And they were fading away, drifting out of his reach. Stan was saying his name, over and over, like he was drifting away on some distant sea and Kyle was left to stand entirely by himself, alone. Rooted to the spot on a wrecked shore he couldn't hope to escape from.

But it wasn't an island, it was just the stupid slick tile of the hallway, and all he had to do was blink and he was on his back--half-pulled into Stan's lap--his knees hurt. Stan's voice was a quiet hum, but it was blooming past all the white noise in his ears, his hand lightly stroking Kyle's face. Kyle sat up abruptly.

"Stan?"

The jeering crowd had dispersed. Even Cartman. Everything was fuzzy and dark around the edges, but it was slowly clearing. Stan was kneeling next to him, so was Butters; Craig and the others were retreating down the hallway. From the back, it looked like Kenny and Clyde were with him, but Kyle wasn't entirely sure.

"Gosh, Kyle," Butters settled a hand on his shoulder. "A-are you all right?"

"I--" Kyle's tongue felt thick and entirely too loose at the same time. He swallowed, tried to stand, immediately felt a wave of dizziness and fell back on his butt. Both of his makeshift attendants moved quickly, making little surprised noises and winding their arms around his shoulders. "Um, I think so."

"Just take it easy, dude," Stan said quietly, and with his and Butters' support they slowly helped Kyle to his feet. He felt shaky and unsteady, bracing a hand against the lockers, but he could do it. He could walk. They didn't need to carry him, damn it.

"What happened?" Kyle ventured, his voice just as quiet.

"Oh, jeez!" Butters suddenly sounded impressed. "You broke that ol' Craig Tucker's nose! 'bout time someone showed him, heck!"

"Butters, cut it out." Stan frowned. "I don't think you actually broke his nose," he said to Kyle. "You fainted for like, a minute or so. Good thing I was here to stop you from hitting your head."

"It was still really cool," Butters said, beaming. "You gave that n-nasty bully whatfor, just like Eric, why, you're the best nose-puncher in all the town."

Kyle would have laughed at that, but he still felt kind of shitty; the dizziness hadn't fully cleared, and his stomach hurt. He shakily lifted his wrist and coughed against it, groaning a little in pain.

Then he remembered.

"Stan," he choked out suddenly, grabbing at him. "I accepted." He burst into tears then. "I accepted!" God, he didn't want to cry in public like this, especially not in front of _Butters_ of all people, but he hadn't just reached his limit. He'd hurtled himself past it and right into the flames. "I got sick and wasn't paying attention I just wanted to call Mom--" He pressed his hands over his eyes, sobbing those words out and even continuing after they broke, trying to stop, to pull himself together.

"Huh? Kyle, Kyle." Stan wrapped his arms tight around him. "What are you talking about? Accepted what?"

"Oh, shit."

Not 'hamburgers'. It was well and truly 'shit.' Butters got it in one.

\--

He felt so fucking pathetic. How could he be so goddamn _stupid_?

"This is the worst day of my life," Kyle grumbled, rubbing at his aching eyes, leaning against Stan where they were sitting. He was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to feel uncomfortable about doing it in the open -- although the health office had considerably fewer people in it, so that was a bonus.

"Yeah, I bet," Stan said sympathetically, holding him. Perhaps a little too tight, but Kyle didn't mind at all. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"

"I'm so fucking scared, Stan," he whispered.

"It'll be okay, dude, I'm here for you. I'm always here for you." Stan craned his neck as he spoke, glancing out the window behind him for a few seconds.

"What's going on!?" Kyle was suddenly on edge. "Who's out there?!"

"No one, I thought I saw Kenny out of the corner of my eye. Sorry."

"Kyle Broflovski?"

Kyle leapt to his feet, his eyes wide, but it was just the nurse. It was _just_ the nurse. His heart felt like it was pounding a hundred miles a minute. The look on her face wasn't exactly helping, either.

"I've already called your mother; she's on her way."

"What?! Wait, wait. Stan was supposed to be driving me home." Kyle frowned, glancing back at him. Was he in on this too? Whatever the fuck this was. No, Stan looked just as confused as he did.

"She's taking you to the Emergency Room. We're worried that the way you've been getting sick today might be related to the complications you've been having lately, or even your original condition. We just want to make sure, err on the side of caution, because these things can be life-threatening."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Kyle shouted at the top of his lungs. "What next?! No, seriously! _What next_!?"

\--

"Well, we saved you... just in the nick of time," said Dr. Gouache. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid the kidney transplant you received at the age of eight... it will never be the same again."

"You already told me that this morning!" Kyle buried his face in his arms. "God damn it."

"And now... I'll leave you alone with your family, so that they can say their goodbyes."

"Their _goodbyes_?!" Kyle felt his blood run cold, his throat going dry.

"Did I say 'goodbyes'?" The doctor touched his chin as if deeply in thought. "I meant their 'hellos'. Since you were out for a very long time. A few hours, I believe. I'm sure they missed you very much." He walked out of the room, and Kyle was still clutching at his chest when his visitors hurried into the room.

"Oh, _bubie_ , we were so worried!"

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" said Gerald. Stan didn't say anything, just sniffled and grabbed his hand, kissing him gently on the cheek. It made Kyle wince, because his parents were _right there Jesus fucking Christ dude_ , but he supposed he could forgive it, on account of worrying him to death and all. Just this once.

"I want to go home," Kyle replied fussily, glancing over at Ike, who was absorbed in his iPhone.

Oh, god.

His iPhone.

_Fuck._

As if on cue, two men in black appeared at the door to his room, wearing sunglasses and tiny white Apple pins on their blazers. All of it came flooding back. The nightmares. The stitches. The scars. They never stopped, never faded, and now he was looking right into its face. Suddenly finding himself unable to breathe, Kyle started grabbing at the IV needles and pulling them out, no, no, fuck this, no fucking way. He was gone. He was done.

"Kyle!" Stan yelped, reaching for him.

"It's them," he said, and his face had gone white. "It's them."

"Kyle Broflovski?"

He stumbled out of the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

And Kyle fucking bolted.

Unfortunately, he didn't get very far. Somehow, there was a warm hand on his neck, another on his shoulder, catching him, holding him in place. He couldn't move his arms.

" _NOOO!_ " he screamed and thrashed. " _Dad! Stan!_ " There was the pinprick of a needle, a flush under his skin. The world was closing in, the lights in the ceiling blurred, and he heard voices. Voices calling out for him, a disturbance that lay beyond his reach. Everything was hollow in his ears. He looked up and those men fucking towered over him, dark and ominous, becoming shapeless before him and he was suddenly ten years old again, in the hospital not to _fix_ him but to--

" _Congratulations_! You're a winner!"

"W-what...?"

One of the men produced a box, opening it up for Kyle's benefit, showing him their latest gadget: it was like an iPhone, but it was a watch, and it ran off the power of a six-assed monkey, which was included. The iWhoGivesAFuk!*  
(*working title, and may not be representative of our final product.)

"By accepting our terms and conditions, you were automatically entered to win one of a number of _fabulous_ prizes! And the lucky name we drew for iWhoGivesAFuk! so happened to be _yours_ , yes, yours! Congratulations again, and thank you for your brand loyalty!"

He'd calmed down considerably, mainly from being absolutely befuddled, so the nurses released his arms. Kyle gaped down at the box.

"Wow, uh... thank you?"

"We were also going to remove your testicles for another product development, the iBallz, but unfortunately your medical records did not meet Apple Corporation's quality standards. You are hereby disqualified from participating in our upcoming study.

Apple would like to apologize for any inconvenience or personal grievance this rejection may have caused, and we thank you for being a valued customer. Have a wonderful day, sir."

The box slid from Kyle's hands and clattered to the floor as they walked away, and suddenly everything went blissfully dark.

[CREDITS, PRIMUS BANJO RIFFS, ETC]


	2. Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the stupidest porn I've ever written. I can't take these two seriously at all.

"All right, Kyle, you take good care of Ike."

"I _will_ , Mom, Christ." As he'd already told her sixteen times in this conversation. "He's just gonna be over his friends' most of the time."

"And no parties!"

"Okay! I know! Goodbye now!" Kyle gave his mother a kiss on the cheek--unbidden--this time. "Travel safe."

The door closed behind her, followed by her retreating footsteps on the stairs, and Kyle groaned a little. "God, finally."

"We're totally having a party, dude," Stan teased, and it reminded him of something Kenny would pipe up with, but Kyle didn't feel like pointing that out.

"I don't know." He sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh. "I don't want to see anyone else." Kyle quickly opened his laptop, and refreshed the tab that held his auction. As soon as they got home from the hospital this morning he decided he was going to sell the iWhoGivesAFuk! on eBay. He wanted nothing to do with it, or the reminders it brought him. He had enough of those in his skin already.

Kyle had briefly thought about giving it to Ike, but ultimately decided against it. The monkey would have just shit everywhere regardless of who it belonged to in his house. It had a good deal of bids, actually, and would probably net him a fuckton of money-- enough to get himself established somewhere after graduation, on his own. Maybe even enough to pay for a few years of university. But Kyle couldn't even be excited about that, and he refused to think about the future. He shut the laptop and pushed it under his bed with a great sigh.

"It's okay," Stan said, sensing the despondency there and settling a hand on Kyle's back. "It'll be okay." Kyle had managed to hold back his tears until that point, but then he was letting them fall, a fist pressed to his mouth.

"No it won't, Stan!" He sniffled and wiped at his face. "You don't get it. This isn't going away. They can't fix it. I have to live like this forever. Assuming I don't die first."

"Don't say that." Stan rubbed between his shoulders. "You're still the same person, dude. And you're not going to _die_. You just have to make a few changes. I had to start eating better if I wanted to play football. I get it, kinda. I can help you out."

Kyle wanted to snap at him that this wasn't the same as buffing up for a sport, not even remotely close, but he knew that's not really what Stan meant. He was just offering to help. Reaching for a tissue, Kyle blew his nose and nodded weakly.

"Don't treat me differently," he found himself pleading. "If I'm still the same person. Don't start acting like I'm this fragile creature or something. Please."

"I won't. C'mon, you're the strongest person I know. It'll be okay."

Kyle sobbed at that; he couldn't help it, and Stan hugged him tight. The familiar scents of his skin, clothing and hair were all there, surrounding Kyle, sweet and warm and maybe even a little arousing since that was definitely something else that tied into all that trust he put in Stan, too. He pulled back a little and gently kissed Stan's cheeks, smearing some of the tears from his face there in the process, but Stan didn't mind. They'd bawled on each other since they were in diapers, practically. This was nothing.

Stan first wiped his own face with the back of his hand, then ran his thumbs against Kyle's cheeks, wiping them clean with considerable more tenderness. He smiled a little, in the way he did when he was trying to cheer Kyle up, and Kyle couldn't help but make the attempt in return. Stan gently kissed him on the mouth.

"Can I still take care of you?" he murmured, voice a little more hushed. Kyle sniffed again and nodded.

"Yeah. When I'm not already taking care of you."

"Yeah..." Stan frowned, and Kyle felt a little guilty for saying that, but then Stan reached down and pulled up his shirt. He didn't quite take it off yet, letting it bunch up under Kyle's armpits. He lightly touched Kyle's midsection, and Kyle winced out of self-consciousness more than anything else.

"I'm so fat. I'm going to end up like Cartman."

" _What?_ " Stan couldn't help but crack up at that. "You're just soft here because you don't work out, dude, that doesn't make you fat. How is it, though?"

Kyle grumbled a little. "It's fine." He still had a stomachache from the impact, actually, a few small bruises starting to show... but then Kyle remembered how stupid Craig sounded after he'd punched him in the face, and that made him feel better. He actually grinned.

At least until he remembered getting suspended. Then Kyle slumped against the bed again. Stan raised his eyebrows.

"Kyle?"

"I can't believe I'm not going to graduate now. I was supposed to make valedictorian and everything. Now I have a mark on my record, too."

"It's just another couple of months," Stan urged, trying to sound reassuring. "And colleges don't care about that kind of stuff. You're smart, you can handle it." He was saying all this while shimmying down between Kyle's legs, and Kyle stared down at him in mute surprise and confusion until Stan pressed his lips to the place just under his navel. Then he was nuzzling at the rust-coloured hair there, all the way down to the edge of Kyle's jeans, and even though Kyle was embarrassed about his lack of shape he felt his eyes flutter closed. "I really wanna suck you off right now," Stan said, obviously trying to distract him. Kyle was touched, but he also really liked the idea, so he reached down and undid his pants himself, pushing them down.

"Go ahead."

Stan laughed at that, but then he was playing with Kyle's underwear, rubbing him through the plain cotton until he got hard. Kyle whimpered and tried to open his legs further, but the jeans didn't let him get very far. Stan pressed down on his thighs and lowered his head, tonguing at the fabric, which made Kyle groan aloud.

"Don't tease, just get it all off, Christ, Stan--"

Stan kissed one of his thighs and then sat up; they eagerly pulled at each other until their clothes were shucked off all over the floor. The frenzied movements had left them both breathless, so Kyle hooked a leg around Stan's waist and pressed up close to him. He lowered his head and bit at Stan's neck, feeling a surge underneath his navel at the whimper he got in response.

"So who gets it this time?" Stan breathed against his hair, a little coded inside joke of theirs; Kyle already figured he knew the answer to that.

"Me," he said, and licked the hollow of Stan's throat. "You wanted to take care of me."

"Yeah," Stan agreed, already breathless. He pushed Kyle down against the bed, which made Kyle moan in delight. "I'm still gonna suck you, though." He climbed between Kyle's legs and grabbed at his dick, which was already pretty damn hard, the tip hot and slick. Kyle felt the heat rise in his cheeks as Stan lapped first at the head of his cock before pulling it into his mouth, and watched his eyes close.

"Ah, fuck," Kyle breathed out, grabbing at Stan's hair. It was inky-black and felt soft against his fingers in spite of how absurdly masculine Stan's body was; a contrast that reminded Kyle of how his starting quarterback boyfriend truly was on the inside and, therefore, was incredibly sexy. Kyle liked to think he was the opposite and that they were like some sort of yin-yang of softness and manliness, especially when he stood up for Stan's honor and their right to be as happy as any other stupid couple that walked Park County High's hallways, but he knew that was kind of an absurd idea. Still. At least he wasn't Butters, or Tweek. Kyle smiled to himself at that thought, rocking his hips and watching Stan's mouth open up for him.

It had been awkward at first when they started being physical together, almost two years ago now; but Stan has since learned to suck dick like a fucking champion, and Kyle hoped he brought similar delights to the table. Experience alone taught them the things they knew. And now Stan was swallowing him down so far that he was nearly kissing Kyle's balls, which made Kyle shove his fingers in his own mouth, lest he tell the whole house what was going on in there.

" _Fuck_ , Stan!" he whined around the digits stuffed in his mouth, curving a foot against his back and rocking up, just a little. Stan groaned in the back of his throat and clutched at him hard, making him whimper and shake. His hand worked quick over Kyle's cock, as did the warm suction of his mouth, and soon Kyle was crying out hoarsely as he came. Stan never had any trouble swallowing his efforts, he'd said as much, and even convinced Kyle to stop warning him. It was really hot when he just let it happen, he'd said. It took Kyle quite some time to actually be comfortable with that, but now he was, and it was heavenly. He gasped for breath as Stan pulled off him and kissed his legs.

"Take me now," he groaned, not caring how cheesy that sounded. Stan was rock hard, he could see it since they were both completely naked, his cock thick and heavy and glistening a little and just enticing, really enticing. If Kyle didn't want it shoved up his ass and fucking all his troubles away he would have gotten on his knees right then and there. He really was kind of a hobag when it came to Stan. But it was just for him.

"Can't argue that," Stan grinned up at him, nipping at the inside of Kyle's thigh and driving his body up between his legs. Kyle panted, reaching down to pet his hair again. Stan slid a lubed finger into him and he gasped, opening up, though he really just wanted to be pounded into the fucking headboard.

"Unh, _yeah_ ," he moaned out, bucking his hips. Stan groaned himself, looking down at Kyle like he was going to explode right there.

"You're so fucking hot, I love your body, goddamn," he breathed, and smoothed his free hand over Kyle's soft belly, then one of his legs. Kyle shut his eyes, biting his lip, but he couldn't help but squirm self-consciously. His body was, frankly, pretty damn unappealing and he didn't know what someone as gorgeous as Stan could possibly see in it. But he also enjoyed the praise, secretly, a little. It gave him hope that in a few more years Stan would actually succeed in making him feel sexy.

"Nuh-uh," he muttered, still moving his hips.

"Uh, _yes_ -huh," Stan replied, in a 'duh' sort of tone. He carefully pulled his finger out and hauled himself up, kissing Kyle's face and whispering in his ear. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"Ugh," Kyle pretended to be more annoyed than he actually was, feeling himself flush. "Shut up and put it in me already, you fucking dork." But then he did kiss him for his trouble, Kyle dealing with the taste of himself because he felt Stan deserved it. Stan fumbled between them as their tongues played against one another, trying to stick it in without having to move their kisses apart, but he kept pushing it up futilely against Kyle's buttcrack without success. Finally, laughing, Kyle pulled back from him.

"You suck at this, Stan."

"I do not," he flicked Kyle's nose with his clean hand. "Shut up." Stan pulled Kyle's legs over his shoulders, and then he was inside, and Kyle moaned and grabbed at him like he couldn't let him leave or he'd never see him again.

"See?" Stan said, already panting. There were few things Kyle liked better than hearing him like that, knowing he could slip beneath the surface and see these little vulnerabilities so easily. "Everything's gonna be okay." He moved his hips slowly, letting Kyle draw him in, and Kyle did just that-- though it was a little too slow for him, he decided it was nice. It was nice to draw it out like this. "I'm just glad all that's over with," Stan murmured.

"Yeah, me too," Kyle replied, pulling Stan to him as best he could and kissing him, hard. "But, you know ..."

"Uh-huh?"

"I learned something today." Kyle gasped a little and tilted his head back as Stan bit into the side of his neck, skin warming against his mouth.

"Yeah?" Stan grunted, biting at his earlobe.

" _Nnhh!_ \-- sometimes, things just happen that are beyond our-- our control." Kyle buried his fingers into Stan's hair, starting to rock into it, everything in him tense and tight and holding and just-- good. So fucking _good_. "You can't let them take hold of you."

"Yeah," Stan agreed, easing himself back to catch his breath a moment.

Kyle didn't want him to pause, didn't want the friction to wind down. He gripped at the bed for leverage, sliding his body forward. "Even if it threatens to destroy everything you are."

"Yeah, Kyle. Ah yeah ..." Stan breathed out, spreading his legs a little more, just letting him fucking ride it for a bit. Kyle's eyes fell shut, focusing, focusing, Stan's length just where it needed to be, moaning when the head of Stan's dick drove up against that place, Jesus fuck _that place._ He was trembling all over.

"... that's why... i-if some fag and all his groupies jump you on the playground for being too much of a dude, only for him to continuously act like a twat over your actual gayness several years later, he deserves to have the fucking shit beaten out of him."

"Yeah-- wait, what?"

Kyle shifted his weight, reaching down to wedge a pillow between his ass and the bed so he could tangle his legs around Stan's body. He tugged on Stan's arm, indicating he needed to kiss him right then and there, and Stan was quite happy to oblige. He bit at Kyle's lip and Kyle moaned into his mouth.

"Dude, you're so fucked up," Stan whispered. "But I love you for it."

"I know you do, Stan." Both of Kyle's hands were resting on the nape of Stan's neck, but then one of them curved against the back of his head. "Now fucking pound the Hell out of me already."

Stan made some kind of strangled noise and buried his face into Kyle's neck, clutching at him, taking it all from him. It was a good thing they were alone in the house, because soon Kyle was crying out almost every time, one hand clenched fervently around the headboard. He was starting to drip onto his thigh and so he grabbed his cock, just holding it there in his fist, and instead of a scream there was a cessation of noise, forgetting to breathe. It all rushed out of him again at once when he was free from it, left numb and shaking, his hands scrabbling over Stan's back. It was a comfort there, to feel his spine and his thick, smooth muscles. Kyle still didn't understand what Stan actually saw in him but it was all his, anyway, and he reveled in it.

"Kyle," Stan choked out, sounding like he was going to cry. Then he did, his face wet against the side of Kyle's neck. "I'm gonna come, please let me come, please."

"Do it, yeah," Kyle managed to gasp out, still whirling from having come so fucking hard. "Come, Stan. Come for me." He kept murmuring that to him, over and over, even as Stan broke down and sobbed as he did, and there was so much of it. Kyle lifted a shaking hand, slowly petting it through his sweat-drenched hair, rubbing his back.

"Fuck," he breathed out after a moment, and Stan had settled down again. "That was really good. I guess you're not bad at this after all."

"Uh-huh," Stan kissed all over his neck, sort of clumsy in his efforts, not really trying for anything more enthralling than warmth and affection. "I came so fucking hard."

"Yeah, I felt it." Kyle kissed the top of his head. "Shower?"

"Yeah." Stan carefully slid out of him. "Fuck. I wonder how long it'll stay in like that. You're starting to drip out, though."

"So hurry up, then!" Kyle climbed out of bed, dabbed at his thigh with some tissues and then they migrated to the shower. Stan pulled Kyle to him and kissed him deeply. Kyle made little sounds of delight and ran his hands over Stan's arms, his back, his body-- as much as he could reach, anyway. He absolutely loved when they could get naked and slippery together like this.

"Getting hard again," Stan mumbled. "Could fuck you again. It'd be like having sloppy seconds with myself."

"Stan! That's fucking gross!" Kyle pulled away from him in disgust. "Jesus Christ!"

"'kay. So I guess, uh..."

"My turn." Kyle pushed himself up against Stan's body, grabbing both his wrists and sort of playfully pulling them behind him. He nudged Stan up against the wall that way and bit his shoulder until Stan yelped a little.

"Christ, Kyle. You sure you're up for this?"

"What did I tell you?" Kyle's tone was sharp.

"Not to be like that. Sorry, sorry."

"Yeah, you better be." But he was teasing when he said it. Stan liked when he was rough with him, mainly because he could take it and Kyle's assertion was a wild turn-on for him. Kyle was content to suck on the back of Stan's neck as he fingered him, though, teasing and working him open until he was whimpering, scratching at the wall.

"You can give me your cock at any time now, you know."

"Tell me you love it, first!"

"I love your cock! I love it! Please!" Stan wasn't wasting any time in begging, apparently, already practically crying this-- or maybe he was just being loud so he could be heard over the water beating down on their backs, but Kyle liked pretending. He grabbed Stan's hips and pulled them outward until he was on level for Kyle to collide into him, since Stan was a few inches taller.

He worked his way in, loving the feel of Stan's wet skin against his chest, fingers digging into his hips.

"God, yeah," Stan moaned happily. "Fill me with that big Jew dick, Kyle." It was actually pretty average, maybe a bit above average. But if it felt big to his well-hung jock boyfriend, then who was Kyle to complain?

"Stan," Kyle said, beginning to grind his hips.

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever say that again, you fucking dumbass."

Stan actually laughed at that, pressing his face against the tile like it would somehow muffle it. It did not.

"I hate you," said Kyle.

"Sor-ry--" Stan replied, like he was about to fucking lose it.

"It's not funny, Jesus fucking Christ." Kyle shoved at him. It kind of was, though. And Stan _was_ cracking up, his shoulders shaking with it. Kyle shoved him again and then gripped him tight, beginning to really fuck into him, and Stan gasped at the sudden change in pace before getting into it. He pushed back and reached down to stroke his cock. Kyle loved seeing him do that; it was easier than giving him a reacharound because then he could focus on pounding ass, and Stan could help himself along, it was a good time for all involved.

Except Kyle came first, and then he reached over and tried to help Stan along, but his dick was not having any of that, apparently.

"Fuck," Stan whined, gritting his teeth. "It's not gonna let me do it. I can't come again."

"It's because you're trying too hard." Kyle worked himself out of Stan's ass, standing behind him and running his other hand up his side.

"No it's not, you know why it's like that, don't fucking make fun of me." Stan was actually fussing. He could be the biggest fucking baby sometimes.

"I'm not! Stop whining, jeez." Kyle turned him around so he could lean back against the wall, and he continued to jerk in vain, whimpering pathetically.

"I can't come, I can't fucking come, I want to come, god damn it!"

He did, though. Finally. After Kyle got down and let him fuck his mouth for a while. Kyle always felt bad when that happened to Stan, especially because he had no idea what it actually felt like, and Stan was trying his best to deal with his problems. It wasn't fair that he had to deal with shitty side effects like that. Kyle tried to be as accommodating as possible, even if Stan's whining kind of pissed him off when it was the real kind.

"Fuck," Stan sulked as they dried off and curled up in bed. "It's just relief at that point. Just wanting to get it over and done. It doesn't even feel good."

"I'm sorry," Kyle said sincerely, patting his arm.

"I really want you to pinch my nipples when you're fucking me, one day. That actually might help."

"Ugh! Okay, I'm not sorry anymore. Asshole." Kyle kicked at him and rolled over as if to go away, but he stayed there, and Stan spooned up behind him.

"It feels fucking amazing. If you'd just let me do it to you..."

"You know why I can't, Stan. You _know_."

"I know, I know." Stan kissed his ear. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I have hangups," Kyle grumbled. "You don't know what it's like to be me."

"You like a lot of things." Stan sounded like he felt bad. Good.

"It could be worse. At least I'm not like... Tweek or something." Kyle laughed a little in spite of himself.

"Uh, well actually, I heard that kid gets around."

"What!?" Kyle rolled over to stare at his boyfriend. "No way. Wait, you're just screwing with me, aren't you?"

"Nope. Heard it from Kenny."

"Oh my _god_." Kyle rolled his eyes, and shifted back around again, settling. "You actually had me there for a minute."

"Seriously! Kenny's good at reading that stuff. Don't ask me how he knows. Guess who he's been with recently. Tweek, I mean."

"God!" Kyle said loudly. "I don't want to know! I can't even picture him like that. It's too fucked up! Just stop!"

"Okay, okay."

That lasted about ten seconds. "No, tell me! I can't take it!"

"You said you didn't want to think about it. I'm just respecting that, dude."

"Fuck you!" Kyle shoved at him, backwards, and Stan grinned against his neck. "Tell me!"

"'kay." Stan paused for dramatic effect. "Craig."

"Shut up!" Kyle actually yelled that. "He did not!"

"No, I'm not making this up. That's why they don't sit together at lunch anymore."

"That's so disgusting! Why would you tell me that!?" Kyle's rage toward Craig, and what happened yesterday, seemed so far off in Stan's arms. But he couldn't stop picturing it, now, Tweek's addict-thin body and perpetual twitchiness; Craig's... Craig-ness. It was fucking _Craig._ Kyle didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "Stan! _Gross!_ "

Stan _was_ laughing, hard, probably more at Kyle's reaction than the actual mental image. He pushed his face into Kyle's back, shaking from the force of it all.

" _Gross!_ " Kyle hollered again, but then he was cracking up just as bad, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Don't get mad at _me_ ," Stan said, his voice quivering between chortles. "I'm just repeating what Kenny said."

"I'm-- I'm never getting an erection again!" Kyle managed to yelp out.

"Dude, don't call it an _erection_ , that sounds so fucking lame--"

They were both practically in hysterics now. It was a good thing Stan was spooning Kyle from behind, because he probably would have rolled right off the bed. "I love you," he said when they were finally coming down from it, nuzzling Kyle's hair affectionately. "I love that I can make you laugh like that."

"There are better ways of doing so than traumatizing me," Kyle pointed out, but he rolled over and kissed Stan softly on the mouth. "I love you too. Naptime?"

"Yeah," Stan agreed, and even the word was enough to make him yawn cutely. "Naptime." Kyle ruffled his hair before settling back into position, and they both dozed off within a few minutes.


End file.
